They wouldn’t let him meet with her. They wouldn’t even let him look at her from a distance. Shinobu Asamiya understood that, but he still made his way to the hospital where Miyuki Takatomo was being treated.
Asamiya didn’t have anything else to do that afternoon. He’d almost stopped Tobi Otogiri after class, but the other boy had seemed busy, so Asamiya had backed off. After all, he had a pretty good idea what Otogiri was up to: He was probably worried about Ryuuko Shiratama. Asamiya had considered going to the nurse’s office with him to check on her but ultimately decided against it. He didn’t want to be a third wheel and having two guys barge into the nurse’s office and disturb a sick girl’s rest seemed less than ideal. Plus, he and Otogiri weren’t even very close friends.
Takatomo was still being kept in the ICU. They wouldn’t let Asamiya in to see her, and there was no way for someone outside the patient’s family to ask how their treatment was progressing. Instead, Asamiya found Takatomo’s mother in the third-floor waiting room outside the ICU. She and her family were Asamiya’s neighbors, and she’d known him for long enough that they were on a first-name basis. She, at least, could tell him how her daughter was doing, and her report that day was a hopeful one.
“Hey, Shinobu. They told me Miyu might be transferred from the ICU to the general ward. Not right now, but apparently, she might be ready to come off the ventilator soon.”
“Oh, really? That’s great news, but, umm… Has she woken up yet…?”
In the blink of an eye, a pall fell over the woman’s expression. Her eyes looked clouded, like the lenses of a pair of glasses that were far too old and weathered to see through. She just shook her head.
The two of them kept chatting for about fifteen minutes, but for the most part, Asamiya just answered the woman’s questions. She asked him about school, about his parents—typical small talk. When Asamiya finally excused himself, Takatomo’s mother said, “Take care of yourself, Shinobu,” in a desperate, almost pleading tone.
No matter how hard he tried to take care of himself, something terrible could happen to him anyway, at any moment. He didn’t say that out loud—he wasn’t that mean-spirited—but he did think it. Instead, he just said, “I will, thanks.”
Asamiya arrived home to an empty house as usual. He had a brother, but he’d moved out to attend a private university in Tokyo two years earlier. Money was tight between the mortgage on their house and his brother’s tuition and expenses, so both of Asamiya’s parents worked long hours to stay afloat. They left home early in the morning and returned late at night. Their small two-story home was cluttered and unclean and had a peculiar smell to it that Asamiya couldn’t quite put into words.
He’d already decided to get a part-time job once he started high school. He wasn’t planning on going to a big-name college like his brother—he’d never been studious, and he didn’t think it would suit him. Instead, he planned to apply to a passable university, then get whatever job he could find. He’d told his mother that last New Year’s, and she’d simply told him to take his time and think things over before he made a decision.
As Asamiya collected the laundry from the line in their cramped, narrow yard, a wave of exhaustion rolled over him. He was done—done with everything—and he abandoned the task half finished, retiring to the living room where he sat down at the table. His family had a couch as well, but he knew that his dad used it as a bed on the regular. Somehow, that made sitting on it rather unappealing. Asamiya found the remote and turned on the TV, even though he didn’t want to watch anything. He just wanted some noise to break the silence.
When Asamiya told his mother about his plans over New Year’s, she’d asked, “Don’t you have anything you want to do?” He’d said no. Instantly. “That was fast,” she’d replied with a chuckle.
What about Miyu? thought Asamiya. What about Miyuki Takatomo? He vaguely remembered her saying once that she wanted to own an ice-cream store or something. That had been a fad with the girls in their class at the time—one of them had decided she wanted to run an ice-cream shop, and then the next thing he knew, all of them did. Takatomo’s dream for the future had probably changed by the time she got into middle school. Asamiya could easily imagine her wanting to be a nurse or a nursery school teacher. Maybe a beautician. That would suit her.
Asamiya didn’t have a dream. Whenever his teachers told him to write about his aspirations for the future, he would just put down whatever random job popped into his head. Cartoonist. Office worker. Athlete. They were all lies. He’d never had a job he wanted to work or a feat he wanted to accomplish.
But what about Takatomo? Surely she’d had something. She was a reliable, clearheaded girl who could get along with just about anyone. Her grades were quite good, as well. She was Asamiya’s exact opposite. She must have had a dream. Would she ever recover and see it through? Her mother still had hope. It would be great if it happened. Asamiya was hoping for it—but in all honesty, he wasn’t that confident. He thought it was just as likely she’d never wake up again.
A thought sprang into Asamiya’s head: Was there anything he could have done to prevent this? There was no point thinking about it. Whether or not he could’ve helped, the truth was that he hadn’t. He couldn’t help her now, and he wouldn’t ever be able to help her again.